


Push Me, Pull You

by Columbina



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, post-lipstick challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 16:07:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10574784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Columbina/pseuds/Columbina
Summary: He can't keep his mouth shut to save his life, never could, letting it run off and Rhett reel him back in, and here they are again. Only Rhett hasn't let go of his hand.Intended to follow GMM #1065.





	

Link sighs as they settle back into the office, running a hand through his hair before frowning, glancing around toward Rhett.

"You got a comb?" Rhett scoffs and reaches into a drawer to the side, flipping it to him where he stands by the coffee table. He catches it but only just, feeling slow and clumsy. The brine of the "beach" had leached the water right out of him, and his head's pounding with dehydration. Not that he'd express that to Rhett, naturally. No need to set himself up to be made fun of when he'd come out on top for once.

But he knows better. He runs the comb through his hair once, snagging briefly, twice, and he can just _feel_ Rhett gearing up for something behind him. He's not taking the bait, he just wants a nap, he doesn't want to explore the social implications of why people wear makeup, who does and who doesn't, but he hears Rhett take a breath. He doesn't sigh - that'll only make it worse - but somewhere behind his eyes, his head thumps.

"Listen, you may've won, but that's just pure chance, man." Don't say he never told you so. It's not precisely what he expected Rhett to say, but then, he certainly didn't expect his victory to go unchallenged, so he decides to still count this as a _called it_. Link risks a glance over and Rhett's stretched long along the chair, feet kicked out and hands twined over his stomach and much too damn smug for the liking of Link's headache. "Think about it. It was 50-50, who got the good lipstick, and you got lucky." Link declines to comment with what he thinks is admirable stick-to-itiveness. "I think we all know who's the better kisser here, though. Just ask the redhead." Link gives a small _hmmph_ as Rhett chuckles, pulling his glasses off and setting them aside. 

"Yeah, sure, prove it." He didn't mean to say it. Or, he did, but he didn't mean _it_. It's just something you say, a throwaway retort, you know. But he can't help but blush, even turned away from Rhett. "You lost fair and square," he adds, not to cover up, precisely. It's just.. the air feels a little heavy. His head hurts. He's not a well man. He just wants a nap.

He grabs at a pillow with slightly more force than necessary as he flops onto the couch, resettling it under his head and projecting the prelude to a good, solid nap with all his might. Rhett, thank goodness, is quiet, and Link is ready to count his lucky stars instead of sheep as he settles into the couch, toeing his shoes off and nudging them over the side, onto the floor at odd angles. He's just closed his eyes, on the edge of his famously fast drop into sleep, when the shadow of his own eyelids goes a shade darker. He blinks them open slowly, reluctantly, to see all 6 feet and 7 inches of Rhett poised over him. Link frowns. Poised is just the word.

"Come on, man. You're standing in my light." Even with the overhead fluorescents haloing Rhett's head and his glasses off, Link can make out a quirked brow.

"You're trying to nap, Link. That doesn't make any sense." Link only huffs in response, punching the pillow down, closing his eyes in a way that he hopes seems pointed. He didn't ask to be interrogated at the point of unconsciousness and he certainly doesn't appreciate the exasperated tone. If anyone should be exasperated..

"Tired people don't have to make sense. Whaddya want, anyway?" He hears the metal squeak of the coffee table and assumes that Rhett has sat down on it. Perfect. A nap gets no respect these days.

"I'm gonna prove it." Every bit of Link's body goes still, except for his eyes, which snap open, dart to Rhett, back to the middle space in front of him, down to the couch cushion, all rapidfire. He doesn't like feeling tricked and tries to act casual, like he knows precisely what's going on.

"Prove it?" He puts on a voice and looks Rhett in the eye. It's not being brave if you don't know what's coming. "Prove that you're a nuisance? Hate to tell ya, but you did that a long time ago, brother." He doesn't mean to go on the defensive, to deflect, but it's his instinct. Link can't quite feel out where Rhett's headed, if he's on some competitive jag or trying to get some sort of rise or just plain messing with him. He hates to feel left out of a joke, and whenever it's Rhett doing the leaving, he doesn't like to admit it, but he panics a little. That's what you get for building up nearly forty years of comedic codependency.

"That's a little harsh, dude, calling a guy a nuisance before he even gets to the action." Link's not sure what he expected, and tries not to react to the word "action." This is what Rhett does: he pushes and he pushes, until he backs off just long enough for Link to breathe, to think he's safe from the pressure, and then he pushes one last time. If Link's kept his heels firmly dug in, Rhett drops it, but more often than not, Link finds himself persuaded to go cliffdiving or try craft brewing or whatever the hell it is this time. Even so, Link almost never falls for the first feint. But he'd really, really like to this time, because he almost always caves in the end, and Link would love to stall that a little longer.

"Fine, brother, we don't gotta." And there it is, the bluff that Rhett wasn't all that interested anyway. Rhett suddenly splays his hands in submission, leans one on his knee as though to help push off the table and return to his desk, and _fuck_ , if he isn't so damn predictable, and fuck if it doesn't make Link mad as all hell. He couldn't pinpoint when he decided to reach out, or if he decided at all, really, but all the same, he's looking at his own hand twisted up among some cheery cartoon cactuses and yanking for all he's worth. Rhett's hands come up to meet his, in surprise, Link's sure, but he can't tell because he's not brave enough _not_ to close his eyes and all at once his mouth is meeting Rhett's lips, dry and distinctly bristly at the edge.

Link pulls away just as suddenly as he'd lurched forward, equally startled by his own actions, but what else is new. He can't keep his mouth shut to save his life, never could, letting it run off and Rhett reel him back in, and here they are again. Only Rhett hasn't let go of his hand.

Link's mouth twists into a grimace, preemptively apologetic, before his eyes finally slide back up to Rhett's face. Rhett's looking back at him, just staring, saying nothing, with the eyebrows-raised, mouth-agape look Link recognizes from every single time he's taken a joke a little too far. "I'm sorry, man." It comes out a little too loud, even to his ears, and he tries to modulate to a more normal tone, twisting to sit up a little better. "I just, you know, you just always keep at me—" But he stumbles here a little, because Rhett's mouth's snapped shut again and he's not looking at Link anymore, he's looking at his mouth and leaning back in, tugging on the wrist Link forgot was still in his grip. What in the world.

Link hits the freeze stage of fight-or-flight at about the same time Rhett's mouth meets his, wildly unprepared to be staring down the barrel of feelings he thought he'd left behind years ago, welling up somewhere in the region of his guts. So really he can't be blamed for the grunt of surprise that punches out of him, or for the nearly comical jolt he does as he starts back into motion, and especially not for the way the grunt pitches down into something low and satisfied when Rhett's mouth opens against his. His stomach drops as some of his hesitancy falls away, and he pushes forward, leaning into his braced hand.

Rhett leans right back, tilting his head a little further to the side, and when one hand snakes around to twist into his hair, Link thinks he might just combust right there. Without even a lick of conscious thought he's tugging at the sweatshirt again, and Rhett's all too ready to comply. But as he starts to lift off the table, to crowd Link, the bolts on the coffee table give an almighty groan and Rhett freezes. Link opens his eyes to see Rhett looking back at him as if realizing something new and very big, the hand at the back of Link's head unfisting itself, and a wave of nausea rolls over him so fast he feels a little faint. _Oh, goodness._

Not that this is his fault. Rhett's the one who freaking _dove_ back in, but Rhett's always, always asking him why he took it to a weird place, why he'd say something so— Link huffs out a breath through his nose and tries to bring his panic down a notch or two. With his eyes open, he's not quite sure where to look, and settles for Rhett's hands, now resting in his lap. Safe, but not quite avoiding him. His own hand aches a little as he unclenches it from Rhett's shirt; he didn't realize how hard he'd been gripping, and can't help but try to smooth down the cactuses. He hears the smallest breath of a laugh from Rhett at that, but it still makes him feel a little better, setting that small thing to rights.

He can see smeared patches of blue on Rhett's hands, where he forgot to clean or didn't scrub hard enough or just didn't care. Typical. Link rubs at his own hands, fidgeting, until he can't take it anymore and looks Rhett in the eye again. And he's smiling. Link's not entirely sure what just happened and he's sure as hell scared to ask, but that's not the smile of post-prank euphoria, or of competitive gloating, or even of amused bewilderment; it settles Link's stomach and, automatically, half his mouth quirks up in return. He's always trusted Rhett. They talk about it sometimes and he thinks about it more, but always (and he doesn't like to admit it), there's a little thrill of fear in his stomach each time he follows Rhett over some new cliff, into some new joke. What if Rhett leaves him behind, what if he didn't mean it, what if.

Then, Rhett pulls in a breath through his nose, hard enough to startle Link, and he prepares himself for whatever Rhett's got to say. And it better be fucking good.

"I won't tell 'em you lost if you don't." Link has to blink a couple times before he can process it. Freaking jerk. But Rhett's still smiling when he says it, giving him the eye like he's waiting for the return serve, and Link feels a strange sort of stretching and fitting of his trust to accommodate some new _something_. When he lurches forward to cuff him, he's smiling right back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Connect with me on [tumblr](http://mooseontheyouths.tumblr.com/) if you like. I'm always open to messaging.


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